She opened the cupboard on the landing and sighed.
What hat should she wear ? There was a choice of four: a bowler hat, a large straw summer hat, a rather fetching Philip Tracy ensemble or a velvet scrunch hat.
Neither were really suitable for her proposed unicycle antics, but "needs must where the devil drives" she muttered under her breath, and grabbed the velvet scrunch hat in her favourite colour, green. Cramming it on her head, she raced down the six flights of stairs to her front door, grabbed the unicycle from its cupboard and marched out defiantly, daring...
Zara lay back and stared at the clouds. It had been a long time since she had done this. A long time since she had done anything that didn't involve work, actually. Her bare feet moved across the smooth material of the picnic blanket, as she tried to make faces from the clouds. All around her people rushed past, making sure to move around the crazy lady who was laid in the middle of the town centre.
Her bunch of baloons bobbed in the gentle wind and she was transported back to being five years old. She and her mother...
Perched upon a thin branch flailing in the wind, the owl cried out into the night, "Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?" Only the still, dead night and the rustling of branches and drying leaves responded.
I tampered with my oil lamp and let the flame grow tall, casting shadows that played hide and seek on trees. Shadows bounced off of trunks, flickered to the branches, and waned off on the broad, saw toothed leaves.
The owl's cry grew into the night, screeching to the stars, to the trees, to anyone that was willing to listen. "Who cooks...
Marvin knew that he had to return the salad dressing. Last night, it started screaming at him. "BRING ME DWARVES!" it yelled. Strange, since as far as Marvin knew, salad dressing does not have vocal cords.
So he put the salad dressing in a baggie and threw it in the back of his backpack. He could hear the salad dressing yelling. "I HATE THE DARK AND I HATE THE WARMTH!!! THIS IS WORSE THAN THE FRIDGE! THAT WAS DARK BUT AT LEAST IT WAS COLD!!!"
Down the stairs Marvin ran. As he pushed his way out the door, he ran...
She'd have preferred the electric chair. Instead, she got the eclectic stare. Why did she always attract the weird ones?
The cover image for the book was not exactly what she had envisioned. Then again neither was the book really. But she was published, that's what mattered right? True she had used a pen name, but she knew the book was hers. The words on the pages her doing (well most of them anyway). But that image. It really didn't have all that much to do with the story in the book. Would people be disappointed when they read it? Would it make it more buyable as the publisher claimed. Well it was out of her hands. Thank God she...
Nothing will matter then, everything will be gone. I will stand and watch them all. The humans running about their days with not a care in the world. Not knowing what is about to happen to them. Everything to them is important when really it is just crap. Who cares?
After tomorrow they will be nothing but dust not even a memory on the bottom of my shoe. I have seen this so many times, I have watched and laughed as human race after human race gets cleared out and started again. And each one is just as arrogant as...
DAY 1
I saw it passing by. It was only a glimpse, a brief glimpse, one of many taxis that I see every single day. But one thing stood out about it. I can't exactly say what, but I remembered it enough, it had left enough imprint in my mind for me to recognize it the next day. Then, I was on my way to the Tube when it zoomed by me. There was no one in it.
No one at all. The driver's seat was empty. I blinked once, hard, but by the time I opened my eyes, it...
The moon was judging me. There was no doubt about it. It was staring me in the eye like a big pizza pie. Judging.
Okay, fine. Maybe I shouldn't have spread all those rumors about you, moon! No, I don't believe you're actually made of the blood and sweat of innocent cheeses. No, I don't believe you're the one who secretly caused the Great Chicago Fire, or that you tap our phone lines and replay particularly embarrassing conversations with ex-girlfriends back for the constellations. I just say these things because you frighten me, quite frankly.
I'm only human, though. What's...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. The bed felt heavy on the other side. A draft of warm and slobbery air was on his neck. He flicked and flicked the switch, and failing and rubbing his finger raw he leapt out of the bed and ran to the wall. The lights coming on, the room appearing all at once its sterile, diseased-yellow look. The covers tousled, pillows strewn, the light greyish-yellow stain like a teardrop on the wall behind the simple wrought-iron headboard.
Panting now, hand clasped tight on the switchplate, and wits coming back only like a smoldering fire. There...